


Rags and Riches

by GenericUsername01



Series: Star Trek Fairytales [5]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/F, The king and the beggar girl, fairytale retelling, which has such gay understones you wouldn’t even believe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-15 00:44:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14780427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenericUsername01/pseuds/GenericUsername01
Summary: Queen Ilia simply takes no interest in her planet’s male courtesans. It’s unbecoming of a monarch.It’s the galactic scandal of the century when a Vulcan servant girl catches her eye.





	Rags and Riches

Many years ago, in the beautiful fields of Delta IV, there ruled a queen by the name of Ilia. She was gentle-mannered, beautiful, and learned. Everyone assumed that such a wealthy queen must be in want of a king.  
  
They were continually disappointed.  
  
“She shows no interest at all in men,” said the Lord Chamberlain as he was retiring to bed.  
  
“No doubt she’s just waiting for the right one. When she finally falls in love, it will be forever,” his wife said.  
  
The servants in the castle certainly loved to gossip about her potential suitors. They would sit around at the end of hot days and talk about noble men they thought she would like.  
  
“Hear Prince Elisha is to be presented at the court next week. Think she’ll marry him?” the cook asked.  
  
“Nah,” a scullery maid said. “He’s too empty-headed. Our queen’s a bright girl, she needs a man who’s a bit more… stimulating.”  
  
The butler snorted. “Prince Elisha cuts a figure as fine as his pedigree. I’m sure she’ll find him plenty _stimulating_.”  
  
“Well, I’m tellin’ ya, brains is exactly what our young queen wants. There’s plenty of fine-looking young men in court, but none of them can interest her.”  
  
A year went by, and there were plenty of opportunities for eligible boys to be noticed by the queen. They flocked to the festive dances at the palace. They crowded the jousting tournaments showing off their brawns and bravery. Their parents shelled out large sums of money for extravagant coming-out balls.  
  
Nothing worked.  
  
The queen didn’t so much as glance at any of the peers unless it absolutely could not be avoided. She didn’t care for dancing. She had no interest in fashion. Small talk could not hold her attention. The world of the nobility was entirely unsuited to her, as were all of the princes. Her sole interest was to rule justly and wisely.  
  
“Well I think it’s scandalous,” said an aged duchess with a sniff. “It’s positively ungracious for a monarch to take her work so seriously. A queen should provide gaiety and lively interest at court—either that or go and fight battles in faraway lands. It has to be one or the other. She has no business being so pious and hardworking. It’s unbecoming of a lady.”  
  
Nothing improved for month after month. There was almost nothing to gossip about at court whatsoever. It was the worst possible situation for the nobility.  
  
Then finally something happened.  
  
The Foreign Secretary persuaded the queen that it would be in the planet’s best interest to form an alliance with a neighboring world. The treaty would be sealed with her marriage to Prince Willard Decker of Earth.  
  
It was the only thing the court talked about for months. They were positively buzzing with excitement. There was all sorts of speculation as to what gown the queen would wear, what food would be served, what composers would be played.  
  
And above all, there was speculation about Prince Will.  
  
Some said he was short and skinny, others that he was tall and fat. Some said he had stick-straight blond hair, others that it was curly and dark brown. Some said he a nose the size of a fist, and others that he had a massive hunchback. Some said he was the beautiful creature they had ever laid eyes on, and others the ugliest.  
  
In truth, no one had met him, not even the queen.  
  
The Terrans sent a holo in the form of a royal portrait.  
  
The queen was not impressed. She wasn’t horribly repulsed either.  
  
It was just another prince. She would do her duty to her planet.  
  
And then she met the man.  
  
Will Decker was prideful, arrogant, and always had to be right. He was at times inconsiderate and he was an ambitious ruler. Some of his comments about Deltans were in poor taste. He acted a bit like a foreigner come to study zoo animals. Rumor had it he could not please the queen in bed.  
  
It was plain to see that Ilia was no longer in her usual serene state. There were lines on her brow. She was more fidgety than usual. She lost her temper with the servants—something that had never happened before.  
  
It wasn’t long before it all came crashing down. The Foreign Secretary was dismissed from his post and reassigned as ambassador to Betazed. Prince Will was sent home. The wedding was off.  
  
“I’ve never seen her so furious,” said the Deputy Prime Minister. “She says she’s had it up to here with princes, and that she would rather marry a beggar.”  
  
“Well, she is young. She sometimes acts rashly, but she has the makings of a fine statesman, and I imagine she will find a suitable marriage in due course,” said the Lord Chancellor.  
  
That was the general view both in the scullery and in the star chamber—sooner or later, the queen would settle for a man of noble birth. There certainly wasn’t a shortage to choose from.  
  
They really underestimated Ilia.

* * *

“I didn’t know the palace employed any Vulcans,” Ilia said, looking over the chamber maid who had just come into her quarters. She was barefoot and her dress was plain and patched in places, but it’s simplicity seemed to suit her, only accentuating her own natural beauty.  
  
She had wild dark hair and clear blue-gray eyes. Unusual for a Vulcan. Her skin was pale and she held herself regally, like she was a royal herself rather than a palace servant.  
  
She was the most interesting creature Ilia had ever beheld.  
  
“Well, I am half-Romulan, after all,” she said.  
  
Ilia’s eyes lit up. “Was that sarcasm?” she asked, delighted.  
  
The maid quirked an eyebrow up. “Vulcans do not practice sarcasm.”  
  
“Ah, but as you said, you are half-Romulan.” She was grinning now.  
  
“Indeed.” And maybe Ilia imagined it, but she could’ve sworn the woman’s lips curved up just slightly right then.

* * *

 She lay satiated in bed, panting, and pushed the servant girl down beneath her. She threaded her fingers through that thick, curly hair— so exotic to a Deltan— and then reached her other hand, snaking along a perfect breast, down creamy skin, hips, and then plunging down into wetness among even more curls.

* * *

 “What’s your name?” Ilia asked, tracing patterns along the girl’s skin, like she couldn’t resist. She was quickly getting addicted. “I can’t keep calling you my darling forever.”

The girl arched an eyebrow. “On the contrary, I believe that is quite possible, my queen.”

”Ilia,” she said. “I am only your queen in bed.”

”We are in bed right now.”

”You know what I mean,” she said, but she was smiling. Her Vulcan was so sarcastic, didn’t treat her like the queen at all, and she _loved it_.

“Saavik,” she said. “My name is Saavik.”

* * *

 It’s been months and Ilia should have put a stop to this long, long ago, but Saavik is like a drug she can’t get enough of, and the more she has, the more she wants, and late-night meetings in her chambers are not enough. Passing each other in the hall and acting as strangers is unacceptable. Saavik dusting the floor at her feet while Ilia pretends she isn’t there is painful.

Ilia is far more greedy than her people believe because she wants all of Saavik, constantly. She wants to dress her in finery and sit her down at her right hand and put a crown on her head and a ring on her finger and label her as Queen Consort of Delta IV.

* * *

 She grabs her by the collar of ragged dress and slams her up against a wall, kissing her hungrily, until even her efficient Vulcan lungs aren’t getting enough air.

”Marry me.”

 _Kiss_.

”Elope with me.”

 _Kiss_.

”We can get it done in secret tomorrow and by the time anybody knows about it, it’ll be too late for them to stop us.”

Saavik was so perfect underneath her, pliant and yielding between Ilia and the wall, but there was steely fire in her eyes.

”Marry you?” she asked. “In secret and without even a proper proposal? Who do you think I am?”

* * *

 Fine then. Fine. Ilia is a Deltan, the Queen of Delta IV. She can do grandiose. Extravagant romantic gestures are practically in her blood.

Saavik wants a real proposal, then by the stars, she’ll get one.

Ilia holds court, the grandest ball in the century, reason unstated. She lets it be known that failure to attend would be the biggest social disgrace a courtier could commit. Everyone who’s anyone will be in attendance, and they’ll be telling stories of this ball for years to come. She refuses to answer why, and the rumors begin to spread.

They're dead right but also so, so wrong. The Queen has chosen a courtier to marry, the planet will finally have a Prince Consort. A royal wedding is in the making, everyone is sure of it. The whole court is buzzing, desperate to figure out who the lucky man is.

A foreign royal. A diplomat from across the stars. A native courtier, a duke or lord of the land. Surely the finest that Delta has to offer. A man of noble birth and high-standing, a pedigree as long as his arm wealth enough to buy a planetoid. Nothing less would be acceptable, nor worthy of their fair queen.

Ilia had the ball in the throne room rather than the ballroom. All the better to command the attention of all when making the announcement they’d been waiting for for years.

It was the most elaborate, extravagant affair the court had ever seen under her rule. The throne room was dripping with flowers of every variety, the food and drink the finest available, jewels covering every surface they could be attached to. Ilia was in a gown of flowing gold silk that made ever other courtier look underdressed, her coronation headdress resting decadently on her head.

She made sure Saavik was assigned to serving drinks at the ball, a duty far above her usual station. She’d had to have a fresh servants’ dress made, finer than what she usually wore by a long shot.

Ilia whisked around the throne room, dancing with every male courtier who asked, but never more than once for any single one. The court was practically frothing at the mouth with speculation.

She instructed the musicians to stop playing once the clock striked twelve. The room positively froze. Ilia made her way slowly to the throne and took her seat.

The holocams switched on on cue and half the galaxy was watching her now.

”Many of you assumed I called this ball to make an announcement,” she said, her voice filling the room richly. “I did not. The purpose of this whole affair is to give me an opportunity to ask a question.”

She allowed that information to soak in. The Queen would be proposing. Highly imporper and a massive break from tradition in this patriarchal society.

The whole of the throne room was absolutely silent.

 “I have fallen in love. With the most beautiful, intelligent, _fascinating_ person on the whole of Delta IV. And now, I ask, with the humblest of hearts and my kingdom at your feet— Saavik of Vulcan, will you marry me?”

Saavik stepped forward slowly, the only Vulcan in attendance, a woman, and in simple servant’s garb. The crowd gasp and murmured, holocams zooming in on her.

She stopped before the throne. She did not kneel, but remained standing and looked Ilia in the eye.

”I accept.”


End file.
